Us
by varietyofwords
Summary: AU. Inspired by the conversation between Chuck and Blair in episode 5x10. Because Chuck is going to love her baby as much as he loves Blair. Complete.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:** This was inspired by the conversation between Chuck and Blair before the accident in episode 5x10, "Riding in Town Cars with Boys". It's a moment that strengthened my belief in Chair after everything they went through, a moment that makes my own heart quicken.

* * *

"_What 'us'?"_

"_The 'us' that I should have fought for when you called. The 'us' that is not just you and me but you, me, and your baby."_

"_Then, why did you tell me to choose Louis?" _

"_I thought it was selfish if I was the one to tell you to break up your family."_

"_That was the moment you chose not to be selfish?"_

"_Timing has never been our strong suite. I had it all wrong. Just because Louis is the father of your baby does not mean that you should be with him – you should be with me."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I am going to love your baby as much as I love you."_

Her voice startles him, pulling his attention from the perfection on his chest to the perfection standing in the door frame. He looks at her intensely, sees through her composure and reads her like tea leaves. The meeting did not go well, but it's plain as day that she does not wish to discuss it. She dives into bed nest to him without concern for her dress or her perfectly coffered hair; another clue that things did not go according to her wishes. She leans over him, plants gentle kisses on the mop of dirty blond hair on his chest.

His gentle voice interrupts her shower of kisses, and her brown eyes meet his with an added glass from unshed tears. She presses her lips to his, cuts off his question and leaves the words lingering on his lips. She tastes sweet and pure and lovely until her salty tears reach his lips. He tries to break away but she fights for dominance. She needs this win; she needs to bring someone to their knees. He stops dueling with her, but victory isn't sweet. Not this time.

She breaks away. Normally, he would grab her, press her close, and remind her that he is here, that he loves her, that he is fighting for her. But he doesn't want to wake the baby – the sweet, innocent baby currently curled on his chest, radiating heat, and lulled to sleep by his father's beating heart.

"What happened, Blair?"

"Tomorrow," she whispers. Her answer is not satisfactory. This is not part of their deal; they don't wait until tomorrow to fight their demons. Secrets and hidden feelings have always been their downfall and they cannot lose this fight – the stakes are too high.

"Please, Chuck," she begs as she presses her soft hand to his rough cheek. The cool metal of her ring helps vanquish his fears because she is his and they are an "us" – her, him, and _their _baby. His eyes lock on to hers; the question he has been asked over and over again for the last five weeks tumbling out without hesitation as he faces their demons.

"Does the little guy at least have a name?"

The unshed tears begin to fall freely now, and he knows that this battle is the one she lost tonight. Maybe there are more defeats and maybe there are more victories, but those results can wait till tomorrow. Tonight, he has to know how this particular battle ended.

"Pierre Frédéric Harold…" her voice trails off uncomfortably. This is not the name he had hoped for, the name they had whispers together under the covers as he ran their clasped fingers across her belly.

_Matthew Harold Bass_.

The image of his little, wonderful son introducing himself as "I'm Matt Bass" is vanquished as her announcement settles over him. The little boy wearing a suit and bowtie is replaced with one in a beret introducing himself to people all over the Upper East Side in a French accent as "I'm Pierre Grimaldi".

"Waldorf."

The finality of her statement startles him out of the image. He fights to keep a grin (or, maybe, it's a smirk) off his lips, choosing instead to clarify before he gets ahead of himself.

"Not Grimaldi?"

"Not Grimaldi," she confirms with a slight smile on her lips (or, maybe, it's a smirk). The relief pours over him in waves. His son may not have the moniker Bass, but his son is not a Grimaldi and – there are no words.

"Pierre Waldorf," he says, trying the name on for size. It slides off his tongue like smooth liquid and sounds so right. "Pierre Waldorf."

"I know it's not what we wanted, but they wouldn't agree to anything but. And Sophie won't recognize him formally since Louis and I weren't married so no Grimaldi, but they wouldn't let him be a Bass because…"

He cautiously cups the baby – nay, _Pierre's_ – head and still manages to capture her unaware, his lips cutting off her explanation. Her chest heaves when they break apart; the lack of oxygen and the heat of passion leaving her stunned and silenced.

"He's mine," he reminds her with a growl. "It doesn't matter that he is not a Bass because he is a part of you and I…_I love him_."

"Chuck," she replies, her voice breaking on the vowel.

"It may not be my blood that flows through him but…your blood does and I…"

"I know," she replies. Because she does. She knows that he loves her, he loves Pierre, he loves this "us". She strokes the back of the baby's soft head, careful not to wake him but unable to resist that maternal call. Three hours is far too long to be away from her baby. Her full breasts ache now, but her heart ached more.

"I need to pump." The words tumble out before she can stop them, and she blushes a deep red. He laughs because he's removed her filter, but there is still virginal Blair underneath it all.

"Go," he tells her dismissively despite the sharp glare of disapproval settling on her face.

"Should I put him to bed?"

"No," he replies as he settles back down into the plump pillows of their shared bed. "My son and I are just fine."

She smiles because that is all she can do. The response feels weak compared to him and everything he does for her and her baby.

"Go," he instructs with a smirk on his lips, "before you explode."

"Ugh," she replies with a roll of her eyes. She settles a final kiss on Pierre's head before stomping off in the direction of the nursery down the hall.

"Blair," he calls after her. She pauses in the door; afraid he's going to say something else that's immature and bound to ruin the moment. "Tomorrow, you have to tell me what else happened tonight. Whatever it is, I will fight for us."

She doesn't both to turn around. Rather, she relishes in the truth of his words and the love that surrounds her, surrounds her and her baby. Two aspects of the "us" that he loves equally, wholly, and unconditionally.


	2. Chapter Two

"They won't recognize him."

The words are repeated from last night, but the oddity of this phrase doesn't strike until now when he is sitting at the table enjoying breakfast. She's sitting across from him; her breasts bare in all their creamy, white glory and her eyes focused on her insatiable son as he nurses. The entirety of the Upper East Side – nay, the entirety on Manhattan and at least the borough of Brooklyn – would be shocked to see what he sees every morning: prim and proper Blair Waldorf nursing at the dining table.

"Stop staring," she snaps without looking up.

"Stop showing," he replies, and she finally looks up at him to toss a knowing smirk in his direction.

"If only you actually meant that, Chuck Bass."

The two share a knowing smile before Pierre's mewling distracts both their attention. He watches in fascination as she switches the baby to her other breast, latching him on which such ease that's hard to believe she's only been a mother for five weeks.

"They won't recognize him," she repeats.

"The Grimaldis?"

Her words from last night come rushing back to him. Unmarried parents mean Pierre is not allowed the surname Grimaldi, and Chuck assumes that means Blair's son will never sit on the throne of Monaco.

"Yes," she replies softly as she brings Pierre's tiny hand up to her mouth for a tender kiss. "He won't be their prince, but still they want him."

He wants to make a comment about who wouldn't want Pierre but, in this case, he had hoped that someone out there in particular wouldn't.

"They named him for themselves, giving me nothing but the second middle name. They demanded he be a Waldorf when he is more of a Bass than me."

He grimaces at her last line because even though they have yet to make it official, she wears his ring and in his mind is already a Bass.

"And they demand visitation rights now and summers in Monaco when he's old enough to fly alone."

He opens his mouth, starts to say something about the plan formulating in his mind. He'll buy her – _them_ – a house in Monaco and she – _they_ – can relocate there every summer with her - _their_ - son. If the Grimaldis won't allow it, he'll buy something just over the border in France. He will not allow them to be separated.

"Boarding school in Switzerland starting at age six."

She's crying now, pulling her baby so tightly against her that Pierre howls in protest. His face scrunches and turns red in anger, further fueling the despair of his mother.

"Dorota!"

His call is unnecessary. The woman has a sixth sense – no doubt the gift of eavesdropping – and is already swooping into action. Her gentle, quiet words encourage Miss Blair to hand over Mister Pierre, and she skillfully manages to cradle the crying baby in one hand and pull the straps of Miss Blair's dress back into place, trying to give her Miss Blair a sense of decorum. And just as quickly as she appears, Dorota disappears into the penthouse with a mixture of Pierre's sobs and a melodic, Polish lullaby in her wake.

He gathers his fiancée into his arms, holds her tight, and leaves soothing kisses along her neckline and collarbone. He is not playing fair – not at all – but he doesn't know what to say. The fire inside him is no longer lit with passion but with rage for his son. Six years? That's all he gets?

"They say it's for the best. That Le Rosey is better for him than Saint Jude's. That even if he cannot be the prince, he should have the best possible education."

"He can get that here," he replies forcefully. "He will get that here."

"It doesn't matter, Chuck. They want him so they will have him."

He manages to get her to agree to go back to bed, has Dorota return Pierre to his mother. She cradles the sleeping baby close and gives Chuck a wary look as he places a tender kiss on her lips before he heads for the elevator. Always a step ahead, Dorota hands him his coat, wallet, and phone as he steps into the awaiting elevator.

"Go get 'em, Mister Chuck."

* * *

Arthur is awaiting him at the entrance, reading to take him to the headquarters of Bass Industries like he does every weekday morning after breakfast with Blair. The sudden change in destination now seems odd; there was a time when Arthur expected to operate without a plan, but not since Mister Bass' engagement to Miss Waldorf and the birth of Miss Waldorf's son has he seen Mister Bass so enraged, so erratic.

The receptionist at Brown, Macalister, and DePaul does not typically greet Mister Bass because Mister Bass is not a typical client. A man like him, a man with his wealth and his business connections is always greeted by the most senior partner at the firm that day. But Mister Bass' irate phone call has Mister DePaul, Mister Brown, and Ms. Macalister locked in a conference room with the document curried over the Monaco Embassy that morning, and it falls to the reception to escort the visibly steaming client across the firm to the conference room.

"Mister Bass," William Brown greets, shooing the receptionist out the door before she can offer the client tea, water, or other beverage.

"William," Chuck Bass greets icily. "Alex. Katherine."

"We just received the document this morning. We haven't received Mister Rose's notes on the meeting yet."

The clipped tone of Katherine's voice tells him that they are still miffed that Miss Waldorf conducted these negotiations with only the counsel of her stepfather, Cyrus Rose, Esquire. Chuck had tried to convince her to allow his very expensive lawyer on retainer to attend to no avail; she had insisted on keeping this quiet, wanting to avoid a public spectacle played out on more than just Gossip Girl.

"The boarding school?"

"The document states that the child will attend Le Rosey in Switzerland starting at age six," William informs him.

"She didn't sign that part, Mister Bass," Alex assures him. "As far as we can tell so far, an agreement was reached on the birth certificate and visitation until a more permanent arrangement can be made. She hasn't signed anything else."

"Go through everything. Page by page," he directs as he sinks down into the leather chair at the head of the mahogany table. "I want to know every demand, every clause."

His head swims, the weight of every detail pulling him down like a thousand tiny anchors. Most the demands are not too bad. In fact, had the tables been turned, he probably would have made some of the same ones. But others like summers in Monaco and boarding school in Switzerland take things too far.

* * *

Louis looks surprised to see that Chuck Bass is his impromptu three o'clock appointment. He thought he had made it clear to his handlers - what else do you call the two-man team that reads his mail and reports on his actions to his mother? - that Chuck Bass in persona non-grata in his life. Yet, here he is, standing in the middle of his suite as through sharing a drink with his ex-fiancée's new fiancé is a completely normal activity. Except Chuck Bass has refused the drink offered to him, and Louis Grimaldi is currently guzzling the drink in hand like a fish held out of water for far too long.

"What do you want, Bass?" The question is clipped. He does not want this arrogant man to be here, to be standing in his presence as though he has a right to even more of Louis' life.

"You can't punish her into submission," Chuck growls in response. He looks positively threatening, but Louis will not allow himself to cower. He lost once; he will not lose again.

"Who said I was?"

"Swiss boarding school? Summers in Monaco? You're trying to take her son away, trying to punish her."

"Not everything is about Blair Waldorf."

"There's your problem," Chuck haughtily informs him as though he's privy to a reality that Louis cannot see. "Everything is about her, Louis."

"It's His Serene Highness to you!"

The demand is ridiculous, particularly to the one demanding it because this is not who he is. But he needs to separate himself as the better man, needs to remind Chuck Bass that he may have Blair but he does not have everything.

"I have the right to raise my soon how I see fit! You robbed me of the right to make him my heir. I won't let you rob me of my right to see him, to educate him properly!"

"I think Blair and I have made it quite clear that we won't obstruct your right to see Pierre, to be involved in his life as his father. But only to the extent that it is equitable and fair."

"Equitable and fair? What is equitable and fair about you swooping in and running off in a limo with my pregnant fiancée through Central Park after giving me your blessing? What is fair about you deciding that you two are far more important than my son taking his rightful place as the next prince of Monaco? What is equitable about you holding my son five days before I even saw him? He was supposed to be born in my family's hospital, not some common suite at Lennox Hill!"

"Oh, grow up, Louis. She went into labor three and a half weeks early, and a volcano erupted over Iceland. You missed the birth, but so did her mother and father, Cyrus and Roman."

"They are not the child's father. Nor are you."

He sees red over the statement because it is not true. For a brief moment, his hand clinches and he wonders what it would finally feel like to drive his clinched fist into the smug bastard's face. But images of Blair and Pierre fly to the forefront of his mind, reminding that he has already won so much.

"_Louis wants the baby to call him 'Papa'."_

"_Hmm," he hums as he traces his hand over the taunt skin of her swollen belly. _

"_I agreed," she replies as she snuggles deeper into his embrace. "He is the baby's papa just like you are the baby's daddy."_

"_Daddy?" The word comes out in hoarse whisper; his tongue tangling with the question and the implication. _

"_Papa has no meaning to me. But Daddy? The word means everything."_

"My lawyers are prepared to fight this, and I will be at your next round of negotiations. I won't allow you to bully her with your inane demands."

"You cannot keep me from my son," Louis snaps back.

"No, I cannot. And we will see you on Sunday. But I will fight for her and her baby, for us."


	3. Chapter Three

Sunday morning finds them wrapped in their own cocoon. Pierre is resting in bed between the two of them as they rest of their sides and stare at him loving. They share a smile over Pierre's flailing arms, another over the crinkle of his nose when his mother taps it with her index finger. It is a soft, quiet moment between the three of them and they will savor it for as long as possible.

"Mister Chuck, Miss Blair, they here." Dorota interrupts the moment from the doorway to Miss Blair's room. The woman is clearly unhappy with the presence of the visitors.

"Tell them we'll be down in a minute, Dorota," Chuck instructs as he watches Blair recoil in fear. He brings a hand up to her face when he hears the older woman pad away from the room. "Don't do this, Blair."

"Don't do what?"

"Doubt yourself. You are Blair Waldorf, the most powerful woman I know, and I love you."

"And Pierre?" The uncertainty still slips through sometimes despite his assurances. After all, what kind of man can love another man's child?

"And Pierre," he echoes as assurance because this man can and does love another man's child.

She kisses him tenderly, but still with an undercurrent of passion. It is enough to leave him slightly stunned, delay his reaction so that she can slip out of bed and pull on the dress Dorota laid out for her unfettered. She turns around without a word, and he slips out of bed fully clothed to assist her with her zipper. His hot breath tickles her ear; his lips leave a soft kiss along the nap of her neck.

"I love…" she begins but is quickly cut off by Pierre's cries. She extracts herself from Chuck's embrace and gingerly scoops her baby into her arms. Pierre calms almost immediately, happy to be back into his mother's arms and have the attention back on him.

"Definitely a Waldorf," Chuck barbs. It is a non-malicious, running joke that is entirely true, but she huffs in disapproval anyways. His eyes glint in humor as he follows her wordlessly down the staircase. He watches her warily, apprehensive as she glides from step to step in her high heels. He knows she's a pro at this; he has watched her float down these stairs in heels with ease so many times before. Yet the knowledge does not make him feel any better; she hasn't done this with a baby in arms enough to make him feel better.

They enter the living room to find Sophie sitting on the white couch. Her legs are crossed at the ankle and tucked neatly under the sofa. She takes a sip of tea from the tea cup presented to her by Dorota rather than greet Blair, Chuck, or Pierre. She is the Queen of Monaco, and decorum says that the Queen never greets anyone – let alone a commoner from America – first. Her son, however, stands because he is a gentleman and a gentleman always stands when a lady enters a room. The additional height afforded to him by standing gives him an additional advantage – he can see the son he hasn't seen in over a week nestled in his mother's arms.

"Your Highness," Blair greets icily. She refuses to curtsey, not after this woman dictated so much of her grandson's life last time they saw one another. "Louis."

"Blair," Sophie replies with a dismissive tone to her voice. She doesn't even look at her grandson's mother's fiancé. "Louis, aren't you going to hold the child?"

"Oh, um," Louis shifts uncomfortably. He holds out his hands, drops them to his side, and repeats again until Blair takes a step towards him. She smoothly transitions Pierre into his father's hands, making sure to instruct Louis that he has to support the baby's neck with his hand and his bottom with his other arm.

"Bonjour, mon fils."

Pierre watches with wide-eyes as he takes in all the new sights and sounds. Chuck and Blair hoover, ready to swoop in and rescue the baby at the slightest hint of a cry. It's only when Louis sits down and the potential for dropping Pierre is diminished greatly that Blair finally sits down and accepts the decaffeinated tea Dorota poured for her. Chuck, however, continues to brood in the corner of the room. The silence between the four is punctuated only by the clatter of tea cups and tea spoons returning to saucers for a few moments. The situation is so awkward that no one quite knows what to say.

"He's perfect, Blair."

Louis' comment causes both Blair and Sophie to pause their cups midway in the air. A flush of maternal pride settles over the new mother, and she ends up grinning despite her discomfort with the situation.

"He is, isn't he?"

"Of course," Sophie interjects. "He has the Grimaldi chin and nose, and his eyes…"

"Are Blair's," Chuck interrupts from his corner. Pierre's eyes are the same ones that haunted him for years, the same ones that see right through him, and he is not going to let them attribute those powerful attributes to some uncle once removed in the Grimaldi clan.

"Yes, well," Sophie interrupts as she places the tea cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of her. "Louis, I should like to hold Pierre."

Her son awkwardly shifts on the couch and struggles to stand with the baby in his arms. He hasn't quite mastered the art of standing and cradling; his inexperience causing a sense of worry to rush over Blair. Thankfully, he manages to shuffle over to his mother and deposit Pierre into his grandmother's waiting arms. She's all bone and sharp angles and it is almost like Pierre can feel the tension in the room because he bursts into tears just as soon as his father lets go.

"Chut, bébé. Grandmère…" Sophie trails off uncomfortably as the baby cries louder, his screams piercing the eardrums of every adult in the room. Blair leaps to her feet to gather the baby in her arms, ready to shove Louis aside, but is bested by Chuck, who scoops Pierre into his arms and cradles the sobbing child into the crook on his neck.

"What is wrong?" Louis asks with anxiety and handwringing. "Maybe he's hungry?"

"He needs his diaper changed," Chuck informs them all as though it's the most obvious answer in the world. Because for those who have been around Pierre since day one, it actually is the most obvious answer in the world. Five weeks and he speaks Pierre; he knows which cry means Pierre needs to be fed, changed, or merely held.

"Chuck, why don't you let Louis change Pierre?" Blair offers because she is trying to make this situation work.

"Why?" Sophie interjects with a wrinkle of disgust on her face. "Isn't that what the nanny is for?"

The gesture towards Dorota shows just how little Sophie knows about the lives of Blair and Pierre Waldorf. There is no nanny and while Dorota assists in the care of Pierre when asked or needed, Blair is determined that her son will not be raised by an army of nannies alone in a penthouse in New York.

"I take baby," Dorota offers, but Blair waves her away.

"No, Dorota. Louis is going to learn to change a diaper," Blair announces to the room. Louis looks at her with a look that screams 'I am?', but she will not back down from this demand. Her son will be raised and cared for by his parents – Mommy, Daddy, and Papa.

"Chuck."

Her tone is clipped but there is an undercurrent of pleading that he cannot ignore. He knows how important this is to her, but he needs her to understand how hard it is to relinquish his son out of his hands. He hands over Pierre to Louis because he will do anything to make her happy and this is what it means to love her as much as he loves her baby. He does not follow Louis and Pierre as Blair leads up them upstairs to Pierre's nursery even though he desperately wants to. Instead, he stands in the same room as the Queen of Monaco and watches her eye him suspiciously out of the corner of his right eye.

"Mister Bass," Sophie begins after what feels like a millennium of listening to her sip her tea. Dorota has slipped out of the room under the guise of preparing dinner but in actuality under the guise of avoiding such an awkward moment where two people who loathe one another refuse to interact. "Mister Bass, you should look at me when I am talking to you. First rule of business, no?"

His eyes are piercing and even the composed Queen of Monaco is taken aback. She reaches a hand up to brush her hair back, concerned that his stares are because her composure is no longer perfect, and he thinks about how little she knows him or his family. He won't prod her to speak, and her hand drops uncomfortably when she realizes such.

"Mister Bass, you really do love that little boy."

It's not a question but merely a statement because she already knows that answer. He does, and it is the kind of love she is afraid her son will not be able to compete with. The same all-consuming love that Louis could not compete with all those months ago when push came to shove.


	4. Chapter Four

Last week, those involved in the negotiations included herself, Louis, her stepfather, a court stenographer, and a lawyer representing Sophie's interests more than those of her son. The conversation picked up directly from the previous week's negotiations, and the conversation about what the child's name should be. She had fought hard for Matthew, even agreed to spell the name as Matthieu to appease his European relatives, but the name had been squashed quickly. The lawyer – a Mister Bertrand – was very insistent that the child would not be allowed to have the last name Grimaldi nor would the child be included in the line for the throne due to his illegitimate birth.

The conversation quickly dissolved into a lecture on the 1918 Franco-Moneqasque Treaty and the stipulation that any non-legitimate child could be legitimatized by the eventual marriage of his parents and retroactively obtains the right to become Monaco's heir apparent. The hint was not as smooth as Mister Bertrand had probably intended it to be, and the information was not as new as probably he, Sophie, and Louis had thought it would be. Dorota is just a thorough as any professional private investigator could ever be, and the information was already common knowledge between Blair, her family, and her fiancée.

"_No," Blair replies sharply because it is her final answer on the subject._

"_Really, Blair?" Louis cries incredulously before pushing away from the table in disgust. "You will rob my son of his rightful place for your own selfish wants?"_

Chuck had offered her the same out seven months into her pregnancy, and she had given him the same reply as she gave Louis. She would not marry him. Not for all the land, money, and titles in the world, not even for her son to be king.

Eventually they had agreed on the child's name: Pierre to tie him to the Grimaldi family, Frédéric after Louis' middle name, Harold for Blair's father, and Waldorf because no other last name was agreeable. Louis had seethed with anger when Cyrus even mentioned the possibility of Chuck and Blair wanting to give the baby Chuck's last name.

"_What about Bass?" Cyrus offers after Louis' surname is soundly swept off the bargaining table. "Has Chuck expressed an interest in…"_

"_Chuck Bass is not the baby's father!"_

Negotiations had almost broken down at the point, but they managed to move past the question, sign the appropriate forms, and move on to the next issue on the table. The conversation – debate would be a more appropriate word – ended within the hour after Mister Bertrand laid out the remainder of Louis' demands. A part of her wanted to believe that all the demands came from Sophie because Louis knew how important raising any child she had herself was to her from when they were still together. And yet sending Pierre to Le Rosey was still on the table, still written into the contract he wanted her to sign. She had swallowed her tears, gathered her purse, and fled the Embassy.

Today, those involved in the negotiations are herself, Louis, Mister Bertrand, a court stenographer, Chuck, and Mister DePaul and Ms. Macalaister of Brown, Macalister, and DePaul. She had felt guilty about dismissing Cyrus from the negations table, but the man was actually been quiet thrilled to be tasked with loving the baby rather than fighting over the baby. She had told Chuck that two lawyers were too many, but he had insisted upon utilizing every resource available to them.

Blair insisted negotiations be relocated to a private room at the Empire Hotel with the trump card that she needs the baby close by in order to nurse him. After all, the penthouse suite of the Empire offers a crib for Pierre to sleep in, a comfy chair for her to sit in while she nurses, and a television to keep Dorota entertained while the baby sleeps. The Empire also offers home turf advantage, and years of scheming have taught her the importance of utilizing every single advantage.

The conversation begins with the required niceties; the lawyers surprisingly chatty for people who would soon be sparing across the table from one another. Then again, they are not emotionally invested in the situation, and that seems to be the root of the problem here. In the middle of all this is a little boy who is loved and wanted by all parties. Or, at least, that is what Blair tells herself because the alternative is that Louis does not want Pierre and is merely using him as a weapon of destruction and revenge. The alternative makes her stomach roll.

"Prince Louis would like it on the record that Mister Bass has no business in the negotiations," Mister Bertrand states just as soon as they all sit down at the table. He and Louis are on one side; she and Chuck flanked by their lawyers on the other.

"Mister Bass is Miss Waldorf's fiancée, plans to have an active role in the raising of the minor child, and is here to support Miss Waldorf during this discussion," Ms. Macalister replies before Chuck or Blair can open their mouths. Everything the woman says is true, but the words seem to trivialize Chuck's role in Pierre's life. 'Active role' does not even begin to cover what the title of daddy means to him and Blair.

"Still, Prince Louis would like his objection recognized."

"So noted," Mister DePaul says with a nod towards the stenographer.

"Shall we begin, then?" Ms. Macalister offers as she opens her leather briefcase and pulls out the documents she and her partners had spent hours poring over and writing late into the night.

"I believe we last left off with the issue of where the child will spend his summers," Mister Bertrand offers up. The negotiations quickly begin; lawyers from both sides objecting to this or that while their clients sit silently and watch the life of Pierre Waldorf be planned out before their eyes.

The overwhelming sense to run, to grab her baby and fly off to the Dominican Republic or some other country where Louis cannot find her is so overwhelming at moments. Flight or fight?

She is so tired of fighting, so tired of seeing her son and wondering if he will be ripped from her arms and kept at arm's length from her for his entire life. Princes and sovereign leaders have that power. But sitting here in the middle of Chuck's empire with his hand entangled in hers and entire weight of his fortune and the Bass and Waldorf names behind her, she knows that she really is the most powerful woman in the world because she is loved, because her son is loved, and because she is a mother and will expend her last breath to protect her son.

"I need to speak to Louis," she announces sharply. Her outburst stops the negotiations, leaving Mister DePaul in midsentence. Everyone looks at her as though she has spouted a third head.

"Alone," she demands.

"Miss Waldorf, I respectfully advise…" Ms. Macalister begins, ready to council her client against this particular course of action, but Blair will have none of it.

"Out."

Chairs scrap the ground as Ms. Macalister and Mister DePaul push away from the table. Mister Bertrand follows their lead, but only after his own client nods that he too should follow Blair's wishes. The lawyers and the stenographer file out, leaving Blair alone with her ex-fiancé and current fiancé.

"You too, Chuck."

The instruction catches him off guard. He had told her that he would not walk away from the table, that he would be there all day if he had to be in order to help support her and protect her and Pierre. He does not want to go, does not want to abandon her. And, yet, she looks at him, her eyes pleading that he give into her, and he finds himself giving in. He is so very weak when it comes to her.

The door closes behind him with a resounding click, and she is finally left alone with the father of her child. No lawyers, no stenographer taking down every word. Just her and Louis.

"What do you want, Blair? What could we possibly have to say to one another that hasn't already been said?"

"I'm sorry."

The surprised look on Louis' face is quickly covered by anger. He honestly cannot believe that is what she dismissed everyone to say. The words seem so trivial given everything she has done to him.

Pursued him. Agreed to marry him. Cheated on him with her ex-boyfriend. Become pregnant with his child. Loved another man. Broke off their engagement. Reconciled with said ex-boyfriend. Had his child out of wedlock. Made him fall in love with her.

"I'm sorry that things did not go the way we planned, Louis. I'm sorry that I couldn't keep my promise to you. I'm sorry about how things we ended things."

"We ended things?" He snorts derisively. "There was no 'we'. You decided to end things; you decided to runoff with Chuck Bass without giving me a chance to fight for you."

"I know," Blair replies as she wipes away a stray tear. "But don't you understand, Louis? That's a fight you were always going to lose. He and I…We're like magnets; we can't resist the pull. Even in his darkest moments, I have loved him."

"He treats you terribly," Louis reminds her. "He makes you miserable."

"But he also makes me happier than I've ever been," she informs him, "And he will spend every day of his life trying to make our son happy."

"It's not his job," Louis snaps. "Pierre is not his son. He is not Pierre's father."

"Don't you see? He is not trying to be Pierre's father. You are Pierre's father. He wants to be in Pierre's life because he loves our son as much he has loves me. Had the tables been turned, had I been pregnant with Chuck's baby instead of yours, can you honestly say that you would love his baby as much as you would love me?"

The question causes him to pause. He had been so angry when he had found the envelope in Blair's desk from her obstetrician. At the time, he had told himself that it was because the test was evidence that she had cheated on him. But maybe some of the anger came from the fact that he knew he would have lost her immediately had the results showed the baby not to be his. He had won in the moment on a technicality but lost in the end.

"No matter how things ended, you and I loved one another, Louis. And in that love we created the most perfect little boy. For that I will always love you."

"But not enough to marry me? Not enough to make Pierre my heir?"

"No," she replies forcefully. The idea of being married to him even for the shortest amount of time is so reprehensible to her that she won't even allow herself to consider it. "I will do everything I possibly can to make Pierre happy for the rest of his life, but I cannot marry you, Louis."

"He could be King, Blair," he informs her, playing on her own childhood wishes of being a princess. "He deserves to be King."

"He deserves to be happy, to know that he surrounded by people who love and dote on him because he is Pierre and not because he is the future ruler of Monaco. How can we give him that if we raise him in an environment where his parents are miserable and lie to him about who they really are everyday of his life?"

He does not reply, and she wonders if it is because he does not understand.

"My own father lied to his wife, to his daughter, to everyone about who he is. He pretended for so long and when he finally decided to stop being miserable, to stop lying to everyone, he very nearly destroyed me and my mother. How can I do the same thing to Pierre when I know the pain it will cause? How can I pretend to love you and our family when I want the 'us' that includes Chuck?"

"The same way you did for the entire time we were together."

His reply is meant to be cold and calculated, but there is wariness behind them. He was so tired of loving her, so tired of being caught up this farce that even he had begun to have his doubts before she had run off with Chuck Bass. It's why he had started to pull away even if at the time he had told himself that it was her fault, that her indecisiveness was causing the problems between the two of them.

"I know you are angry, Louis. But, please, stop punishing me by trying to take my son away from me. Stop punishing him for my decisions."

"I'm not trying to take him from you, Blair."

"Really?" She questions indigently. "What do you call Le Rosey? Summers in Monaco?"

"Being a good father and offering my son every advantage!"

"Then let him stay here. Give him every advantage that comes with the Upper East Side. But don't take him from his mother and don't try to make him into something he will never be. Love Pierre for Pierre. Not for the little prince that exists in some alternative universe."

She stands up and gathers her coat and purse because she really has nothing more to say. She needs to walk away, needs to take a break from all this fighting and reconnect with her son in the most natural way. He does not say anything and for a moment she begins to believe that she will be able to leave without another word. That is, until her hand touches the doorknob.

"If Chuck Bass had never existed…"

She will not turn around and face him. She will not play this stupid game with him.

"Don't do that to yourself, Louis," she replies softly as she retches open the door. "I have played that game far too often to know that nothing ever comes of it."

"But if he hadn't existed, you and I…"

"If he hadn't existed," she begins whilst still refusing to face him, "I never would have been in Paris. If he never existed, I never would have been the museum that day admiring Monet. Without Chuck Bass, you and I would have never met, and you and I never would have created Pierre."

The finality of her words is punctuated by the slamming of the conference room door, leaving him alone in the empire built by his rival.


	5. Chapter Five

When the door opens, she does not stop to talk to the lawyers, and she does not stumble straight into his arms or burst into tears. The cool mask from high school is back on her face, and he watches her march straight to the elevator. The people around him immediately start wondering aloud if she signed anything, if she agreed to any of the conditions they had not signed off on as a group. But from where he is standing, he can see her composure falter just as the elevator doors slide shut and immediately knows.

He does not bother to dismiss the lawyers, just excuses himself and strides towards the elevator. He has to wait for it to reach the penthouse and return before he can follow her. The wait is excruciating, even more so when he is forced to watch the numbers tick by as he takes his own ride up to the top.

The first clue – the only clue – he needs as to where Blair is Dorota hovering around the closed door of his bedroom. The older woman eyes him warily; she has no idea why her employer is in tears and experience has taught her that Mister Chuck is usually the cause. One look at him, though, shows that this time it is not his fault. The man looks practically distraught even though he tries to hide it under a tough exterior.

"She just take baby and lock herself in room," Dorota informs him as she steps aside so he can jiggle the doorknob for himself.

"Blair," he barks out after he finds the door locked, "open the door."

There is no response, no confirmation that something terrible has not happened to her or Pierre in the five minutes he has been separated from them. He bangs on the door two more times, shouts her name as he jimmies the door knob for effect.

"Dorota, call down to the front desk. Tell them to send housekeeping to unlock this door."

Dorota nods her head and moves towards the telephone in the living room to call down per Mister Chuck's instructions. If they were all back at the Waldorf penthouse, she thinks wistfully, they would not need to call anyone. Dorota has a spare key to every room and, even if she didn't, she has been picking the lock to Blair Waldorf's bedroom for years. One bobby pin and she would have that door open in no time.

The door swings open before Dorota can even press '1' for reception and she drops the phone back into its cradle. She fights her instinct to advert her eyes when she sees Miss Blair standing in the doorway with Mister Pierre in arms. She will probably never get used to seeing her poised employer nursing her child without any kind of cover over her naked breasts. The action is so unlike Blair Waldorf.

"Are you okay?" Chuck is asking frantically as he cups her left cheek with his hand. "Did he hurt you? Did he say something to you?"

"No," she assures him because Louis has never laid a hand on her. At least, not in the way he is thinking. "He…he wants me to marry him. For Pierre's sake."

"Oh," Chuck replies. He is trying to stay calm, but the clenching and unclenching of his free hand is not fooling anyone – least of all Dorota.

"I told him no, explained about why I cannot do that to Pierre. To us."

He knows all her reasons for refusal – her father, her unhappy childhood, her overwhelming love for him that makes her unable to function without him. The last one had been a joke, meant to make her laugh after one terrible argument. And, yet, she had managed to turn the tables on him and pin that on him.

The tears are falling freely now, and she is pressing herself into him. He wants to carry her off to his bed and prove to her just how well he can function. That's not an option right now; she has yet to receive clearance from her gynecologist and he won't do anything to hurt her. Not now. Not ever.

His mind is thrown into overdrive as he leads his fiancée to the red couch in the living room. He wants her to sit down and finish nursing. She looks positively exhausted and standing cannot be good for her or the baby.

"Dorota?"

"Yes, Mister Chuck?"

"Go buy some bread," he instructs as he settles down on the couch next to Blair. The instruction seems so random that both women look at him inquisitively as he reaches out and strokes the suckling baby's cheek. "I think it's time we take Pierre out for his first official outing."

* * *

The baby is staring out at this new world with wide-eyes from the pram, watching the sky above change as his father pushes him through Central Park. It isn't even that cold outside, but Blair keeps reaching into the stroller to adjust Pierre's hat or pull one of the multiple blankets up to his chin.

"He's fine, Blair."

"We should have waited to take him out," Blair replies as she tugs on the blue blanket. "He's only six weeks old."

"He's fine," Chuck informs her. "You and Dorota have him wrapped so many layers that I doubt he can even feel the fresh air. Besides, Dorota has kids. She knows what she's doing."

"Fine," she acquiesces, looping her arm through Chuck's as she throws a look at the woman trailing behind them. She knows exactly who to blame if Pierre comes down a cold from this outing, and she wants to make that knowledge abundantly clear to Dorota.

No words pass between them as they reach Blair's favorite spot at the duck pond. This is Blair's space to reflect and meditate, to worry over and solve her problems, and Chuck feels like he is intruding as he unbuckles the baby and scoops him into his arms. Dorota has been here so often that she knows the drill – quietly hand over the bread and step off to the side.

"Look, Pierre," Blair says as she pulls a slice of bread from the bag, "we're going to feed the ducks. Do you know what ducks say? Quack, quack, quack."

The imitation causes one of the ducks to actually respond, and Chuck cannot help but smile as a Blair laughs aloud. It has been so long since he heard that sound. He is absolutely mesmerized by her – her laugh, her smile, her sparkling eyes, her brown curls and pink headband.

"Oh my god, Chuck," she exclaims. Her voice reaches a new octave of excitement, and the intonation is the only thing keeping him from becoming paralyzed in fear. "He smiled! Pierre smiled!"

He shifts the bundle in his arms to get a better view, but there is nothing even resembling a smile on the little boy's face.

"Maybe it was just gas," he offers with a shrug.

"No, no. He smiled," she snaps. "Watch."

And he does because she tells him to, because he cannot help himself. He watches her imitate a duck again, listens to the real duck respond, and then – a beaming, toothless, just-for-them smile that makes the last bit of ice around Chuck Bass' heart melt.

* * *

They go out to celebrate at Brassiere even though no real New Yorker eats dinner at six o'clock. They quack at their little boy and watch him light up and smile without concern for the tunnel and borough crowd currently giving them odd looks. He accepts the compliments of the older woman to his right about how precious his son is, but he isn't really listening because nothing else matters but her and the baby and the 'us' they have become.

Eventually, the baby becomes restless. He needs to nurse, needs a bath, and needs to go to bed; all activities they cannot accomplish at Brassiere. So they wrap him back up in blankets before Chuck guides Blair and the baby to the limo waiting outside. He finds himself whispering words of love in her ear, pressing her to his side and promising her everything.

"Marry me."

Her comment catches him off-guard because she is already wearing his ring, because he has already asked her this very question.

"I know we said we would wait until we got all this sorted out," she states, forgetting her tearful demand that they wait until she can fit back into her normal clothes when he had pressed the issue only a few months ago. "But I don't want to wait any longer. I love you more and more each day, if it is even possible to love someone that much. I want to be your wife, Chuck Bass."

"Okay," he replies. It is not the word he wants to use because it seems so trivial. He would have married her yesterday, if she had let him. "No more waiting."

They are practically giddy with excitement as they exit the elevator into the Waldorf penthouse. Plans have been made. They will be married next month because she does not want to wait and he wants to give her the wedding of her dreams. They will need an army of wedding planners to pull this off, but he will throw the entire weight of his inheritance behind this if it means she will finally be Mrs. Bass.

"Miss Blair," Dorota says as she steps out of the shadows. Her presence makes them jump; Blair's comment that they need to put a bell on the woman not entirely off base.

"A man came and left you this," she informs the couple as she holds out a sealed, legal envelope. The seal for the Principality of Monaco is stamped on the front, and their breaths catch in their throats when they realize the implications of the envelope.

Without a word, the young mother hands the baby over to Chuck and snatches the envelope out of Dorota's hands. Her hands are shaking as she undoes the clasp; her body is shaking as she pulls the stack of papers out of the envelope. The size of the stack is overwhelming, and Blair honestly does not think she has the strength to comb through each detail tonight. She is just about to cry out in frustration when she notices a piece of paper clipped to the side with the header "His Serene Highness Prince Louis of Monaco" embossed on the front.

"Blair?" Chuck calls out. "What's it say?"

"Blair," she reads aloud after scanning the piece of paper. "I want my son to be surrounded by happiness. I want him to be loved because he is Pierre and not because he is a prince. I want him to have a mother like you instead of a mother like mine. I have agreed to your requests – no more Le Rosey and a shortened summer vacation in Monaco – and I hope you will find this custody arrangement agreeable. Louis."


	6. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** I wish to thank you all for your support with this story. Jumping into a new fandom, particularly with an AU story, is always rather nerve-wracking, but your likes, favorites, and words have made all the difference. Thank you.

* * *

Access to their home is just as tightly controlled as the embassy downtown that even he, the crown prince of Monaco, is asked to show identification to the doorman as soon as he walked in the door of their building. The doorman slips him a key after verifying his name is in fact on the authorized personal list and instructs him to take the farthest elevator on the left. The exchange is strictly professional; diplomatic issues prevented him from accompanying Pierre back to New York City three weeks ago and thus meeting the staff employed by his son's new home.

The electronic key burns in his hand as excitement and trepidation settle in. Today is such an important day for his little boy that tense diplomatic relations with the United States over taxation and off-shore accounts was not going to prevent him from being here today. A swift tap of the electronic pass to the reader on the door allows him to bypass the other residences and head straight for the floor marked "PH". It is a short ride to the top where the doors open and expose a grand, light-filled room. Everything about the room is meticulous arranged and tastefully decorated. Everything but the collection of dinosaurs clustered on the floor.

"Mister Louis."

Dorota, stealthy as always, has snuck up on him. He smiles at her because even though he knows that she was never really his champion, he knows that the Polish woman loves his son deeply and for that he can and will be grateful to her.

"Big day, Dorota."

"Yes," the woman nods her head. "Mister Pierre very nervous."

The statement worries him because he does not want Pierre to be nervous. That is a task for his parents, and they should be the ones to worry about whether he will enjoy the day and make lifelong friends or come home in tears and refuse to attend.

"Louis."

His name distracts him from asking Dorota what he can do to help make this day go smoother, and he turns his head to the left to see Blair gliding down the stairs towards him. She looks tall and regal and so…

"You look beautiful, Blair."

He comments on her appearance not because he wants her but because it is true, and she accepts his compliment without fear that his comment is not wholly innocent. She is beautiful – in fact, she practically glows – and they both know it to be true.

"Careful, Louis, my husband might hear you," she quips as she moves from the last step towards him. "Dorota, go get Pierre's things together."

"Yes, Miss Blair," Dorota replies before scurrying off into the depths of the penthouse apartment.

"Your house is lovely."

"Thank you," Blair replies, her eyes sweeping over the room. "I find that the plastic dinosaurs really add a little _je ne sais quoi_ to the place."

He smiles because there is another set of dinosaurs across the vast expanse of the ocean that adds something indescribable to his own living quarters. He is constantly amazed at how much Pierre knows about the extinct species. There have been multiple instances where he has settled down to play dinosaurs with his son and be rebuffed for his ignorance.

"_Papa, that's a stegosaurus. They do not eat other dinosaurs."_

"No Essie?"

"No," he replies softly because the two are on the outs right now. His heart aches for her to be here yet he cannot ignore the festering anger in his gut. The situation is making him crazy; she makes him crazy. "She, uh, she could not be here."

Blair raises an eyebrow like she doesn't believe him, and even he recognizes how poor of a lie his words actually are. Everyone knows Essie adores Pierre. She wants to offer him some words of comfort, tell him that people who are meant to be will find their way back to each other no matter what. But she won't should the words on the tip of her tongue open a healing wound because, in her most appropriate example, Louis and Pierre are the "what" of the equation.

"Dorota says that Pierre is nervous." He offers the statement as a way of deflecting from his and Essie's relationship.

"Hmm," Blair affirms. "Chuck is talking to him now."

Five years ago, that answer would have enraged him. He would have demanded that he be taken straight to his child, desperate to prove that there is a need for only one savior in his son's life and that the role belongs to him and him alone. Today, things are different.

"And you? Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," she admits, and he is relieved over her honesty. Quite frankly, he feels the same way. "When did my baby become this grownup?"

"He won't be your baby much longer," he gently reminds her with a gesturing to her expanded waistline. He watches the smile return to her face simply because she cannot avoid it, watches her run her hand over the swell.

"He'll always be my baby," she assures him. "Even if I have a dozen more, Pierre will always be my baby."

"A dozen?" Louis replies with eyebrows raised in alarm. He never imagined Blair Waldorf wanting – let alone having – a dozen children, and he has to wonder what it was about becoming Blair Waldorf-Bass that made her want to change her tune.

"Don't listen to her," Chuck Bass announces from the staircase. "She's hormonal and has no idea what she's saying."

"Hello, Chuck," Louis greets.

"Louis," Chuck replies before turning his attention back to his wife. "Heels?"

"They complement my dress," Blair replies as though it is enough of an excuse for a woman a mere six weeks from her due date.

"So do the Prada flats I bought you yesterday."

There is a silent stare down between Mister and Mrs. Bass, and Louis is quite certain that this could go on forever and make them all late if someone does not step in.

"Is Pierre ready to go?"

Louis' question causes Chuck to look away first and thus loose the argument between himself and his wife over a pair of name brand heels. (Louis can't tell you who the designer is; he has never been good with labels.)

"He's waiting for me to announce him," Chuck replies. "Monaco went to his head."

"_Why can't I enter with you?"_

"_Because, mon fils, that is not how it's done," Louis assures him as he tugs on and straights his son's white bowtie. "But you are going to be my big boy and wait for Antoine to announce your name before you enter just like we practice. Remember? Antoine will say Mister Pierre Waldorf of New York, and then you will walk straight towards me."_

"_Can I have one of those?" Pierre asks, gesturing to the collection of medals hanging from his father's chest. _

"_Maybe one day." The answer is merely meant to change the subject, distract the little boy from his demands. Announcing the little boy, allowing him to attend the party is already pushing the envelope of decorum._

"Humor him," Blair instructs her husband, "It's a big day."

Her husband does as she asks, goes to stand next to the bottom of the staircase, and announces the little boy's name in a booming voice.

"Mister Pierre Waldorf of the Upper East Side."

They all watch with smiles as the little boy with a crown of dirty blond hair walks slowly, regally down the stairs. His perfectly pressed blue pants match his sharp blazer, the insignia stitched over his heart. A bowtie has been switched for that of the required tie because Pierre wanted to emulate his daddy today. It was the deal the two of them made in order to get the little boy to agree to come downstairs. As soon as his eyes settle on his papa, though, Pierre stops walking and breaks into a run.

"Papa!"

It's a flurry of kisses and hugs as Louis gathers his son in his arms. He has missed his son so dearly; eight weeks over the summer, every other Christmas, and the multiple trips to New York he schedules during the year aren't enough time with this pure delight.

"Bonjour, mon fils," Louis greets. "Are you ready?"

"Are you coming too?"

"Of course," Louis replies as he sets the little boy back on the ground. "It's a big day."

"Pierre," his mother interjects, placing a soft hand on his shoulder and directing him towards the woman hoovering in the corner. "Say goodbye to Dorota."

His parents watch the woman attempt to choke back her own tears and whisper words of encouragement to her youngest employer. The little boy is practically buzzing with excitement as he rides the elevator down to the lobby, grins as the doorman helps him push the revolving door, and marches straight up to Arthur and his daddy's limo.

"Hello, Arthur."

"Good morning, Mister Waldorf," Arthur replies with the slightest hint of a smile as he opens the door to the limo. His parents aren't far behind and Arthur greets them in turn as they each slide into the limo, careful to help Mrs. Bass as she sinks into the seat closest to the door.

The ride is quick, but Pierre manages to ask so many questions that the drive feels even shorter. By the time they reach their destination, his excitement has been replaced with apprehension and he eyes the other boys and girls warily. They all stand on the sidewalk, his little hands firmly clasping in Louis' and Blair's hands and Chuck is hovering close behind as they wait for him to decide that this is okay.

"Essie!"

He breaks away with a shout after spotting the brunette woman walking up the sidewalk towards them. Blair's hand shoots out, trying to capture him and prevent the paparazzi across the street from photographing him. Louis looks just as surprised to see her, even more surprised when she drops down to Pierre's level because Essie never drops and greets the little boy with a hug.

"What are you doing here?" The words tumble out of Louis' mouth, and he flinches at his intonation. He wants to say thank you, to gather her in his arms and shower her with kisses, but he's also so incredibly angry over their fight.

"He is yours, thus he is mine."

Her reply sends chills up his spine because he knows it to be true. She loves his son as much as she loves him. He reaches towards her but is rebuffed by the shrill ringing of the bell. His son looks absolutely petrified over the noise even as Essie and Louis take turns telling him that everything will be fine, that he will have a lovely time.

They step away but towards one another to give the other couple the opportunity to belay his fears and kiss him goodbye. His hand finds hers and with interlocked fingers they watch a very pregnant Blair wobble on heels as she wraps her arms around her son and promises that she will be right here waiting for him at the end of the day.

"Goodbye, Mommy." His farewell is more of whisper as his mother wipes away a fallen tear and chokes back her own sobs. She gently pushes him towards the entrance, tries to compel him to enter before she completely falls apart, but the little boy is rooted in place.

"Pierre," a voice bides him to turn and stare directly into the face of his daddy. Chuck Bass has crouched on the ground; the pants leg of his favorite suite being sullied by the dirty sidewalks of New York as he presses his knee to the ground to maintain his balance. A small set of arms are flung around his neck, and Blair watches with fallen tears as Chuck presses their son against him. He turns his face so that his lips whisper into the little boy's ear and Blair's curiosity is heightened when Pierre lets go, whispers a soft goodbye, and marches straight through the gates of his new school.

The parents watch as the little boy moves through the emptying courtyard and is warmly greeted by Miss Acadia, Pierre's teacher whom he and the Basses met at Open House two nights ago. The little boy doesn't even pause at the door, just allows his teacher to lead him to his classroom without even a glance behind.

"We will see you at three, then?" Blair questions the other couple in this equation. They affirm that they will be here at three, ready to take Pierre out for ice cream as a celebration of his first day of school. But they don't mince words and quickly slip away to discuss the reestablishment of their relationship without an audience of his ex-fiancée and her husband.

The hand settling on the small of her back guides her towards the awaiting limo. Her feet are aching, but she won't give him the satisfaction of being right and merely allows him to help her settle into the backseat of the limo. Chuck walks around to the other door rather than making her slide, and she gives him a lazy but happy smile as Arthur skillfully maneuvers the car away from the curve.

"Chuck?"

"Hmm," he responds with a glance towards her.

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," he replies because his comments really were just that.

"Please," she beseechs, "tell me what you said."

His refusal is met with a hand slipping across his clothed thigh, and he wants to laugh because limos are her thing and he won't…

The feathering of kisses to his jaw line and her hair sweeping back to expose her neck does him in. He reaches for her, pulling her as close as her body will allow and attacks her neck with gusto. Her skin is on fire and for a moment she almost forgets what she wanted to ask as he moves to kissing her lips. When they break apart, she turns her head and repeats the question.

"I told him," he whispers in her ear as his fingers slide between her legs, "to remember that he is Pierre Waldorf, that he can do anything, and that I am Chuck Bass and I love him."

"That worked?" She cries out as he presses on the soft skin at the apex of her thighs.

"Worked on you, didn't it?"


End file.
